Promises to Keep (13 page)

"Huh?"
Jack said, backpedaling as fast as he could in a near panic. "I don't...I
didn’t…"

"What's
a girl to think when a strange man shows up at her doorstep with his luggage?
You'd think he already had plans of staying the night."

"Oh,
no..." Jack stammered. "It's not like...I didn't mean..."

Laura
grinned, her eyes dancing mischievously. "Just messing with you, Jackie
boy," she said with a light punch to his shoulder.

"Oh."
He let out a huge breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

“Got
cha!” she said with triumph.

The
relief he felt overwhelmed him. “You rat!” he said, scooping water up with one
hand. “What a rotten trick!”

“But
funny.”

Laura
shrieked and giggled when he splashed her, but she took it well, as if she knew
she deserved it.

Jack
joined her on the grassy bank. They sat down together, side by side. The grass
was warm from the sunshine. He kicked off his shoes and ran his feet through
the turf.

"I
love this place," Laura said as she gazed out into the distance. Jack had
to agree, the water and the sun and the gentle lapping of the waves had a mellow,
soothing quality.

"I
come here a lot," she went on. "When I'm out here, I can forget everything.
Stuff doesn't seem to matter as much when you can look out into the water, you
know?"

"I
see what you mean."

Jack
felt an awkward sense of uncertainty. Was
this
the right time to give
her Bob’s ring? He still wasn't sure it was the right thing to do, but a
promise is a promise.

"Laura,
I didn't
just
come out here to...well...it's just that I have something
—
I
have to give you something."

"What
is it?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows.

Jack
fished into his pocket, grasping the ring. It was cold and heavy against his
skin. "I promised Bob I'd make sure you got this, personally."

Laura
sat up quickly. "Bob? What?"

"Hold
out your hand."

She
did. Jack silently laid the ring on her palm. She looked at it without
comprehension for a second before realization dawned in her eyes. "Is
that? It isn't—" she choked.

"It
is. When I wrote you and said I was with Bob when he died, I meant literally
right there with him. He gave this ring to me and made me promise to deliver it
to you when I got back to the States. I'm sorry."

"But,"
Laura said, her green eyes growing huge and dark as tears welled. "But the
Navy Chaplain gave me a box at the funeral. He said it was all of Bob's...what
did he call them? Personal effects."

"I
know. They do that. The thing is, Bob didn't want anything to happen to that
ring. He was afraid somebody might steal it or it'd get lost or something. You
don't think rationally when you're...you know." Jack's words petered out
and he hid a wince.

He
wasn't sure if he'd said the right thing, and had no idea what to say now,
either.

Laura
cried harder, her tears dripped down onto the metal circle in her cupped hands.
"Shit. Just shit and damn it to Hell. What a waste. He was so
young—younger than most. That poor boy. Sweet but..."

Jack
squashed his impulse to hold her. "Listen, I..."

Laura
looked up at him. Water pooled in her eyes making them appear enormous.
"Sweet, that was what he was. Kinda like a golden retriever, you know?
Loyal and no matter how much life crapped on him, Bob would always try to find
the good side. Shit. Now life gave him the ultimate screw job. He was too nice
for that to happen. It's not fair."

"No,
it's not." Jack agreed.

He
felt he should hug her or pat her shoulder or do something but he just sat
there, feeling completely impotent. It wasn't like she had a wound he could fix
up in two minutes with neat, evenly spaced stitches of sterile silk. This pain
went much deeper than that. All of his training and experience was worth
exactly zip when it came to this particular type of injury.

"Screw
this. You got frigging assholes live to a hundred!” Laura threw one frustrated
hand in the air. “You got murderers sitting on death row for twenty years and a
sweet guy like Bob gets killed his first time out of the house. He was one of
those fresh-off-the-farm kind of guys and everything was so damned new and
exciting to him. It sucks."

"Yeah,
I know. It does."

Jack
finally put his hand on her shoulder. Her sudden burst of angry energy deflated
and he felt Laura lean into him, her head nestled into his chest.

The
contact felt good. It felt natural and right.

Her
hair smelled of salt air and sunshine. Caught in the rare sensual pleasure,
Jack couldn't help himself. He found himself breathing in the scent of her, in
one long deep lungful after another.

"I
never understood that either
—
why bad stuff happens to good people,” he
said.

Wynn
had been a kind of lazy, irresponsible kid with a good heart. Except for how selflessly
he'd acted at the end, which had deeply impressed Jack, he wasn't so sure Bob
Wynn had been that noble.

He
sure as Hell wasn't going to mention
that
to Laura.

She
raised her head from his shoulder and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
"Dammit, I promised myself I was done crying a long time ago.” Her breath
hitched. “Now I got snot all over your shirt."

She
pulled her sleeve loose in her hand and tried to dab away the offending clear
mucus off Jack's chest.

He
caught her hand in his, slime and all. It was soft and feminine and it made his
chest tighten.

"Don't
worry about it, Laura. I've seen much worse and I’ve got more shirts. It's OK,
really."

"Yeah,
I tell myself that. Sometimes I believe it. Just when you think you've left it
behind you, it just comes after you and pulls you back in."

Jack
suspected she was talking about a lot more than just her husband's death. He
wouldn't be surprised if it had something to do with what Ron was talking about
in the apartment hallway.

Regardless,
he felt bad about upsetting her. He wanted to make her smile and laugh. He
wanted to bring hope into her life, as she'd done for him all of those months.

"You
know, I almost didn't bring you the ring—I almost turned around and went home.
I thought it might upset you and that's the last thing I wanted to do. I
could've made up an official looking package and mailed it to you, but that
just didn't seem right."

"You
hush your mouth, Jack Curren. You did exactly the right thing." Laura
looked him in the face, her large moist eyes locking with his. "I'm glad
you came. I'm glad you kept your promise. There are so many jerks out there who
would have just pawned it for a beer or a joint, without a second thought. You
came yourself, in person, to give this to me and I'm happy you did. It just—it brought
a few things back that I thought I'd left behind me at his funeral. I was
moving on and you kind of fetched it all back at once. It seemed so long
ago."

"I'm
sorry," he said again.

"Don't
be." She touched his face lightly. The tips of her fingers brushed down
his cheek and left tingly electrical lines in their wake.

Freckles,
he
thought, entranced.
A sprinkling of freckles on her stubborn looking little
nose.

Jack
felt some confusing sensations growing deep within.

Of
course, a pretty lady caressing his face would cause a stir in any normal man.
Still, the "nice guy" part of his brain was decidedly uncomfortable
from the signals it was receiving from below his waist.

Taking
advantage of one of his men's widows wasn't only dishonorable, it was downright
wrong. What had he been fantasizing about all of these months? He must’ve been
crazy. It could never happen.

It
should
never happen.

Jack
was conflicted. Stay, or go? The decision to leave before he impulsively acted
on any baser thoughts or feelings won.

"Well...Laura...it
was nice to meet you. I hope I brought you some closure
—
"

He
stood up but Laura reached out and grabbed him by the belt and wouldn't let him
take even a single step.

"Not
so fast there, you."

She
pulled herself up next to him. Jack felt his pants shift across his backside as
she tugged.

"You
came all this way to see me and bring me Bob's ring and there's no way I'm just
letting you leave. We’re getting out of these wet clothes and I'm going to put
on something nice. You can wear what you want, but dammit, I haven't dressed up
in a long time and I'm tired of moping around. I'm going to give you the dollar
tour of our town and I'm going to treat you to some good southern
cooking."

"I
don't know if I should
—
"

Her
green eyes flashed. "I don't give a shit what
you think
you should
do. This is all about me, OK?
I
need a night out and
I
need to
have a little fun for once. Sometimes a girl just wants to have a few laughs,
right? So you’re going to help me. It's—it’s your duty."

"Duty?
I don't
—
"

"Serve
and protect, right? Isn't that the Navy motto or something? Or that that cops? It
doesn't matter. Let's get your crap and get suited up."

"I've
reserved a hotel room."

Laura
playfully punched him in the chest. "I didn't say that you were spending
the night, silly,” she said with a captivating giggle. “I said that you're
taking me to dinner. You men are all alike
—
just one thing on the
brain."

Jack
let himself smile back at her and then followed as she led him back up the path
and across the lawn. They stopped at his jeep.

“Mm.
Nice ride.”

“I
treated myself. It’s brand spanking new.”

She
slanted him playful smile. “I’m not complaining.”

Laura
made admiring noises as he pulled a pair of well-pressed slacks and a crisp,
white button down shirt out of a bag he had in the back.

Jack
grinned at her happily. Their interaction was dangerously close to flirting. It
had been so long since he’d been around a pretty girl in a social situation. He
was out of practice, but he hadn’t forgotten how much fun it was to flirt.

Change
of clothes in hand, they went into her building and up the stairs. He wasn't
about to bring his duffels bags into her apartment, not with Ron around to
raise his eyebrows at him.

Laura
paused at the landing and looked around tentatively. She visibly relaxed when
the hallway proved empty.

Again,
Jack was reminded of what Ron had said earlier. She seemed like a woman who
knew her own mind. So what was she afraid of?

Her
apartment was small and the furniture was thrift shop and yard sale quality,
but everything was as neat as a pin and spotless.

Laura
may not have much money, but Jack could tell she took great care of her space
with pride. He’d seen that kind of thing before.

A
childhood surfing buddy of his was from a poor family. He never fully fit in
with Jack's other Orange County friends. They'd had everything but didn't seem
to care about any of it. This kid was different. He took care of his few
possessions as if they were the only things on this earth. From the detailed
darning of his clothes to the twenty-year-old bike, he kept oiled and polished
to perfection, he'd truly valued and cared for everything he had.

"If
you only got one pot to piss in, it'd better be the shiniest and cleanest
damned pot there ever was," he once told Jack, who'd respected this
quality greatly.

Laura's
apartment was kept with the same meticulous care. It spoke very well about her
character and let Jack know that she'd probably grown up in abject poverty.

Kids
that started out extremely poor quite often became fastidious adults,
especially where their possessions were concerned.

Laura
had him use the shower and change first while she put his damp, half-salt and
half-river water smelling clothes into the laundry.

He
changed quickly
—
there wasn't much to his outfit. He'd shaven before
leaving Camp Lejeune and his hair was too short to need a comb, so there wasn't
much grooming involved, either.

When
he came out of the bathroom, which was as spotless as the rest of the place,
she gave him an ice cold Coke from the fridge and told him to wait on the
couch. The bathroom door closed behind her. After a few minutes, Jack heard the
shower kick on.

Great,
this is going to be a while.

As
he sat on the couch, he let his eyes wander. One thing he noticed was the
absence of photographs
—
no graduation or wedding pictures, no mom, no
dad, no beach vacations.

Only
artistic prints and movie posters adorned the walls
—
all neatly framed.

The
movie posters were all of the classic Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn type.
Jack was never much into those kinds of movies, but he recognized the names on
the posters well enough.

Across
from where he sat, next to the bathroom door, was a bookshelf packed with ratty
paperbacks.

On
the shelf, he found one photo. It was a small, framed picture of Laura, Bob and
some friends, all smiling, laughing and happy. They looked as if they were
celebrating. It could've been a wedding photo.

With
a pang, he studied Bob’s young, eager face. He'd be that age forever. Gone but
clearly not forgotten.

Not
by Laura. Not by me.

Jack
scanned the book titles. Along with
Harry Potter
and some historical
romances were
Fountainhead
,
Dali and Postmodernism
,
Metamorphosis
,
The Brothers Karamazov—
some pretty deep stuff, so deep that they'd
likely put Jack to sleep if he'd tried to read them.

She's
got brains, too.

One
of her books was clearly not second-hand. “
The Language of Love,”
by
André
Chevalier. Really? Hmm. Now
that
looked interesting.

As Jack
reached for the Chevalier book, he heard a slight pop. To his surprise, the
ancient looking, ill constructed bathroom door swung ajar. The shower was still
running full blast. A puff of steam escaped through the opening.

Jack
thought Laura was coming out or had cracked the door to tell him something.
Then he saw her reflection in the mirror. She was still in the shower.

Slowly,
he got up to close the door. He'd always considered himself a decent guy—honor
meant something to him. Yet as he approached, and his hand reached for the
doorknob, he paused and simply
had
to look at her.

He
couldn't resist the impulse.

The
shower was positioned in a way that his only observation point was the mirror
over the bathroom sink. It was a little foggy from the steam, but the cooler
air that wafted in from the living room when the door opened caused some of the
fog to dissipate.

Through
the moisture and fog on the mirror, Jack could just make out Laura's sleek
flank and rounded buttocks. He held his breath and watched as she soaped
herself.

His
view of her body combined with her graceful, practical movements while washing
herself was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

Laura
was achingly beautiful.

Jack
observed a trim, curvy, womanly figure and smooth skin that was pink from the
hot water. He could hear her humming to herself as she let the warm water
cascade over her head.

His
breath caught, his pulse increased and his blood flowed south. Jack couldn't
help his instant excitement
—
he was a man, after all. A little voice
inside of him suggested that he slip into the shower and join her.

Damn!
Jack’s
entire body hummed, almost shaking with urgent, powerful need. It had been such
a long time since he'd touched a woman in any way other than as a doctor. A
really
long time.

Years,
in fact.

For
a second, he was about to do that very thing, until reason entered the picture.

The
big head up north, which was never as much fun and always seemed to thwart the
devious plans of the little head down south, came barging in and vetoed his
plans.

“Morality"
and "common sense" impressed upon him the fact that joining Laura in
the shower was very likely going to freak her out.

What
the Hell was I thinking? Shit!

Irritated
and ashamed with himself, he quietly pulled the door shut and walked back to
the couch.

After
a few minutes, the water cut off.

Jack
could hear movement and then the sound of a hair dryer. The dryer sound went up
and down in pitch in an almost rhythmic way. Jack bit back a moan as he
imagined air running through her long hair over and over.

Every
sound coming from the bathroom seemed to be geared toward arousing him. He
could control his actions, but his thoughts and desires weren’t fully under his
command. Neither was his unwanted erection.

He
wondered what her gorgeous hair looked like as she combed it. He wondered what
it felt like, too. Soft and silky, he bet. He balled his fists.

The
dryer switched off and the door opened. Laura stood in the doorway, snuggled up
in a terrycloth robe.

"Almost
there. Thanks for waiting. I'll be right back," she said and scampered
into her bedroom, leaving a sweet, damp, feminine breeze of soap, shampoo and
something uniquely Laura behind.

“You
have quite the selection of reading material here,” he yelled out. “Have you
read all these books?” Jack picked out the “
The Language of Love,”
by
Chevalier,
hoping it would distract him.

She
poked her head through her bedroom door and gave him a pointed stare. “
I’m
broke, not stupid.”

He
laughed out loud and enjoyed seeing her satisfied smile, as her face
disappeared.

“No
ma’am,” he called after her. “You’re not stupid. Right from your first letter,
I knew that about you.”

“Now
you’re sucking up,” she shouted back through the slightly open door.

“Is
it working?”

“Yes!
Don’t stop now. Flattery works for me,” she giggled. "Hey, this is your
first time here, right?”

“That’s
right.”

He
could see shadows of her, moving around in her room. Seductive silhouettes of a
woman’s shapely form, cast in black on white.

Then
the robe came off.